Vérité
by ScarletNights16
Summary: "I would have been much happier if you didn't exist." - Edgeworth


You wake up to the sound of her whimpers. She is having a nightmare about him again, and you lay in the darkness, not pity but jealousy snatching your mind. Phoenix Wright. You curse him again even though you owe him your life. You carefully turn towards your wife, careful not to wake her. She is on the furthest side of the bed but facing you. She is as bare as the day she was born. Even through a mess of her raven bangs you can see her scrunched brows, sweat adorning her temples. You don't reach for her.

She whimpers again, this time uttering a name. "Nick…"

Your insides turn sour and clench. Marriage is nothing but a few exchange of broken vows. You are a criminal, a prosecutor that used forged evidence; you should at least know this much. You mouth her name. Maya. Your hand slowly creeps to her face, her blushing face. You remind yourself that you are Miles Edgeworth and you get what you want. You remind yourself that you have soiled her perfect reputation with your name. Maya Edgeworth. It doesn't sound right in your ears.

She unconsciously rolls towards you and you meet her halfway. She is pressed up against you, her breasts crushed against your left ribcage. You breathe the scent of her shampoo. It doesn't smell like her, not like the first time you fell in love with her. When she moved in with you she didn't know what to expect. You were forceful, flashing your wealth, flashing your destructive ego. She accepts out of bashfulness and you don't think twice about spoiling her. Her usual supermarket sakura shampoo is replaced by a buttery thick smell of vanilla. It doesn't smell like her. Not one bit. She doesn't complain but you do and you are left wondering why every decision you make is unsatisfactory.

You smell her hair once again, hoping this time will be different. It isn't. You reach to her abdomen and touch her with a familiar intimacy. You want a child. She doesn't. You trace the curve of her hips. Her head moves away for a moment and you stop. Even in sleep she loathes your touch. But you don't care anymore, not now, not at this moment. You hover your hand over the swell of her breast. It fit into your palm perfectly. Small but warm and feminine. You can feel her heartbeat underneath. Badump. Badump. Badump. But it wasn't beating for you, not at all. You almost cackle. As if she would do so for a monster like you, you think bitterly. At first the thought was amusing, but it didn't take long to sink in.

"Nick…" she says again. You find your vision blurring with tears. You kiss her temple and remember the first day she came back from Kurain Village.

The image is still crisp in your mind. The rain fell harsh against your office window. You hear the sound of the elevator bell from your door. There was a knock. You are annoyed, the nib of your fountain pen breaking from pressure.

"Come in." You barked, thinking it was Gumshoe.

You couldn't be more wrong. You hear the hesitation before you see her. The door handle shook back and forth from her dilemma but at last she stumbles into your room, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. Your eyes widen. You can distinguish the tears from the raindrops. Her eyes were red and clutching in her left hand was her broken magatama.

"M-M-Mr. Edgeworth," she sobs and falls onto the floor.

Her long, wet kimono sleeves hit the ground before she did. You panic and run over to her. She explains everything to you, not a single detail left out, even about the part where Wright slammed a grape juice bottle against her arm. It was an accident but she was scared, so scared. You pretend it wasn't an accident. There was blood oozing out. She said it was an honest mishap but you don't believe her. You convince yourself.

You took care of her, letting her stay over at your penthouse, something that you don't even let Franziska do. You knew in the back of your mind it was bound to happen. You are a sex-deprived man and she was a shy virgin. You crave her skin like starved beast. You rip her from the inside out, you tear her apart and you feast on her erotic cries. You declare your ownership over her silently, holding her tightly in public. Her face began to appear in newspapers but it is different from the one you are looking at. She was never completely there. You marry her in a matter of a few months. She doesn't question you. Perhaps you never gave her the chance.

You don't see Wright again until the day of your wedding. You don't invite him, but he came anyways, dressed in a blue suit. You feel a twinge of jealousy when he sets his eyes on your woman, and your fists clench when she looks at him, her expression resembling a sad aftermath of a love affair. You pretend not to notice and drink half a bottle of wine. You watch from behind the curtains, near her dressing room as Wright walks to her.

"I'm in love with you." He says.

She shakes her head, one hand covering her mouth. She wants to cry but she doesn't, for the sake of her shame and your reputation.

"I'm sorry, Nick." She whispers. "I'm marrying Miles."

She never said she loved you. You hope she is as cruel as the women you've slept with. You hoped that she would leave you at the altar so that whatever happened wouldn't be your fault. But she doesn't. She is not a coward like you. She walks toward you with a smile, Gumshoe in place of her father. He knows she doesn't love you, but for the sake of his salary he doesn't say a word. He has a family to feed after all and Maggey is welcoming a second child. One of us turned out average, you say to yourself. Unfortunately it was not you.

Her eyes are cast down. She doesn't look at you. You are desperate to read her mind but she doesn't let you, and it angers you. Your marriage bred from your anger. You kiss her with force, your tongue mingling with hers with bruising force but she didn't complain. It makes you even angrier.

That night you strip her off the white dress, ripping the ribbons on the back. You peel her dignity away layer by layer. You don't kiss her and she cries but you pretend they were cries of passion. You hold her hair tightly in your fist and clutch her hips in a vice grip. It was only when she claws your skin and pleads you to stop that your body fills with dread instead of pleasure.

You raped her.

You sit at the edge of the bed, naked, and cry. You take her feet in your hands and beg for forgiveness. You kiss her toes tenderly and you beg for hours. She sits silently, her fingers rubbing the bloody dents on her hips where your nails dug. You never speak of that night again and you do your best to make her smile.

She pretends to forget about it too, but you see the pain engraved in her eyes. She never looked at you the same way again. You are no longer the Mr. Edgeworth she trusts. Not when you murdered her spirit. It brings you back to the DL-6 case. Sometimes you hoped you had suffocated in that elevator.

However time had its perks. She began to accept you more as you spoil her. Perhaps it was the guilt of keeping you deprived for affection that changed her. You buy her gifts. First they were trips to fancy restaurants every week. Then came the clothes. You shower her with handmade kimonos of the finest silk, crafted by famous artisans. She smiles genuinely for the first time because it reminds her of her older sister's distain for such traditional garments. The pain from your wedding night was slowly etched away. You couldn't be more wrong.

You buy jewelry; a pair of five carat diamond earrings. She was hesitant to accept at first but you tell her to try them on. She slides her hair behind her ears. Her ears aren't pierced and you open your mouth to protest, the apology almost spilling out. You are a fool. She smiles at you but it doesn't reach her eyes. She takes the diamond earring and places the sharp end against her ear lobe. Your eyes grow wider as she punctured her ears. She wipes the blood away and turns towards you. You have hurt her again. You have hurt her to the point that she can no longer feel pain. Once again, your selfish motives have destroyed her. The butterfly is rotting.

That night you make love to her. You are careful this time, undressing her with meticulous precision. You don't take an ounce of pleasure from it because you gave it all to her. You kiss her shapely breasts. Your tongue delves into her bellybutton and in between her thighs. Her moans entice you like a siren's call. That night was the first time she kissed you without an ounce of disgust.

You treat her well afterwards. You stopped buying her expensive gifts but you keep her happy. You look forward to her trips to your office and one day you decide that you want to surprise her. You leave the office an hour early and follow her at a distance, watching as she walks to the tall building. But she makes a sudden turn and you jog, a twinge of fear in your heart. What is she doing? What is she doing? What is she doing?

You see his spikey hair and the signature pressed blue suit. He earned his defense badge back, the small token gleaming in the sunlight, mocking you. You stop when you see her smile, so carefree, so _real._ She had transformed into Maya Fey, the girl who loves burgers, the girl who loves watching Steel Samurai episodes at three A.M. The green monster hugs you from behind. You head back to your office, wiping the sweat at your temples with your cravat. You strip down to your dress shirt and pants. The world suddenly felt too hot to live in.

She walks in your office an hour later. You feel relieved that she didn't abandon you. The green monster tells you otherwise; she would starve you for an hour just to talk to that scum. Your anger clouds your vision. You grab her wrist when she turns to leave. You seduce her, slipping your hand up her dress. She stops you, grabbing your hand, but you hook your thumb inside the waistband of her underwear. She shakes her head and says that you are working, it isn't appropriate. You frown. For a second she looked frightened, but it was replaced by a neutral expression of curiosity at your response. You think you imagined it.

It was Phoenix Wright, isn't it? She is denying you because she loves him. She is falling in love with him. Heck, she could have been fucking him all these years, right in your bedroom. What does he have that you don't? You fell in the grave you dug yourself. You feel as if you overlooked her innocence. Despite her pleas you strip her down. She is shaking by the time you do and you relax when you see that your love marks are still there. Wright hasn't gotten to her. You kiss her lovingly and you use your charms to control her. You are disgusting.

"I can't wait until I get home," you fake a yawn and press your face against her belly, rubbing your whiskers over her skin. She giggles hesitantly. You love the sound and you keep rubbing.

"Oh, Miles," she laughs with a broken voice. "You're such a child."

Your memory ends abruptly. Maya stirs in your arms. You glance at the clock on the wall, illuminated by a muffled brightness from the dark curtains. She stretches her arm across your chest and sits, covering her breasts with one hand. You close your eyes as she turns towards you. You wait a full minute before opening them, observing her statuesque state. She wipes her face with one hand and plays with the ring on her finger. She slides the diamond off and places it on the nightstand.

She sits at the edge of the bed for a few moments. For some reason she seemed free, like a bird that escaped its cage. She stretches her arms up like wings. Her head falls back, her eyes cast up the ceiling and she lets her feather soft hair fall behind her shoulders. You speak without thinking.

"Good morning, Maya."

She jumps and turns to you. She returns the greeting and moves to the bathroom in a hurry, forgetting the ring. She disappears behind the door and you move over to her side of the bed. You grab the ring, your fist encasing the object with such pressure that it leaves an imprint in your palm. You slide into your robe and take the ring with you, dropping it inside one of the drawers attached to your mahogany desk.

You use the guest bathroom and begin your morning routine. Your anger frightens you. Her panicked expression comes into view when you walk to the dining room. She is nibbling on a piece of toast but she doesn't seem to taste a single crumb.

"What's wrong?" You ask, nonchalantly.

She shakes her head, hiding her left hand underneath. "Nothing, just a nightmare."

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" You ask and kiss her head. You feel disgusted with yourself.

"Yeah," she whispers weakly.

You keep the ring inside your drawer for the rest of the day. It was interesting seeing her prance around the house. You can hear her rummaging through the closet and the bedsheets. When you ask her what went wrong she reassures you that everything is fine, she just lost something.

"Is it expensive?" you ask. "Maybe you can buy a replacement if it's not too serious."

Her face pales. "R-replacement? I mean, I'm sure I'll find it. Don't worry, Miles, it's not worth very much anyways."

You are shaking by the time she finished her sentence. You want to cry, to curl up on the floor and beg god for forgiveness for your sins. But you stay still, the blood boiling in your veins. You go over to your desk and snatch the ring from its safe place. The diamond glimmers in mockery. You move over to the window and toss it out. You hope Maya will be crawling on her knees, looking for the damn thing. Worthless, she calls it. The ring that you spend days picking out. The ring that you had made especially for her was worth nothing to her.

That night she comes into the bedroom while you were enjoying tea. She takes your hand in hers.

"Miles," her voice shakes. "I lost the ring."

You place the tea cup on the platter. "Oh. You mean the worthless object you were looking for this morning?"

Her eyes water. "No!" she exclaims. "I didn't want to worry you, please believe me," she says "I'm so sorry, Miles, I don't know where I dropped it."

You shake your head. "It doesn't mean anything to you. It never did, because it was me that gave it to you, not Wright."

She sobbed. "Miles, I swear, it means a lot to me. Our marriage. You're my husband, how could I not love you?"

' _Because I never gave you a choice'_

You shake your head again. "I'm tired. Take my credit card and get a new one tomorrow. It won't be too hard for you to get a replacement; it's not as if you treasured it."

You turn off the lights. You don't want to see her face, pathetically beautiful but judging you with piercing eyes. You hear her sniffle for the rest of the night. You are exhausted but you can't sleep.

"I'm sorry." You say to her later that night. You live up to your notoriety. She didn't respond.

Maya takes your credit card tomorrow. She buys another ring, a chance to revive the withered plant you call marriage. You kiss her on the lips. Yes, she is your prey.

Choices are never made by the innocent.


End file.
